Deduction of a Female
by PranceDaRo
Summary: When London is threatened greatly, Mycroft has no choice but to ask for the most trusted and reliable person he knows. Ms. Annabelle Muller. Will there be romance or great tragedy? Ratings will change.


**This is the intro to my newest Sherlock story. Thank you so much for reading, hope you like it, and please, rate and review.**

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As I sat stiffly and uncomfortably on the very exquisite and very antique arm chair, I looked at my recently manicured hands. Cassandra did a very good job on them, I smiled. At least I didn't have to fire another insignificantly undereducated woman again.

My phone vibrated a few times inside my blazer pocket before I had fished it out. I quickly entered my lock code and answered the call. It was Amanda.

"It's done." That was all she said, and that was exactly all I needed. The line was then cut.

I looked around the office room. Everything wooden smelt exactly like pine furniture polish, and now everything that didn't probably smelt as well. They must have gotten a new cleaner. Probably pretty too, Mycroft always had a soft spot for pretty ladies.

I threw my hair back over to my right shoulder and neatly tucked away my phone into my pocket. I straightened my blazer and my skirt. My gaze was now concentrated on the giant oak door that hit the ceiling of the crisp looking office.

The door was new, polished as well. The maid must be still fairly new, maybe in her mid-twenties. To have gotten this job with Mycroft you must have had some sort of experience but not too much, he could never have had an elderly woman looking after his place. I smiled, breaking off my train of thought. Mycroft was starting to rub off on me, and it was getting a tad bit annoying.

The oak door opened slowly, and without a noise. Once the giant thing was opened, out stepped Mr. Mycroft Holmes, his walk slow but graceful. Mycroft had not changed much since I have seen him last. He was still showing off his awkward stance, his gawky yet professional posture and his shining and balding head.

I stood up respectively and Mycroft's smiled. It was an unusual thing, and yet appreciated because it was only reserved for very few people. He stuck out his hand and I looked at his perfectly manicured fingers. I looked up at his face, "Still single?" I asked.

Mycroft's smile slowly softened, "Yes, but dedicated to my work." He said putting down his hand and placing it behind his back.

I smiled, that was Mycroft for you.

"How is your mother? Is she still ill?" Mycroft asked. I had stifled my expression; Mycroft's deduction could not and would not faze me anymore.

My mouth had turned into a straight crisp line. "She has passed away." I said. I did not want to discuss this with Mycroft, of all people. Hell, I hated to discuss this with myself.

Mycroft did not hide his expression of surprise, which was very difficult to spot. I hid it well, played on top of his game. I was Mycroft's leading consultant and this was just the reason.

I sat back down onto the stiff chair and Mycroft walked over to the other side of the large and pretty heavy birch desk.

He sat down as well. "My condolences," he said. That was all he needed to say really.

I nodded. "You should really tell her that you don't like the smell." I said signaling toward the smell of the very potent furniture polish. I also signaled that I did not want to discuss the matter further.

Mycroft blushed, "Yes, well." He sat. He left the sentence unfinished. He knew that I could come up to the conclusion by myself. _'But she is pretty.'_

"You are the man who leads Britain's security, and you cannot talk to an above average looking female?" I asked him teasing.

He looked up at me and then to his paperwork. I sat there waiting. I folded my hands onto my lap. He then looked up at me again, "I am talking to you aren't I?" He asked.

I sat there shocked and stunned.

I blinked. "Mr. Holmes?" I asked. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Now is not the time." Mycroft informed me, picking up a few papers on his desk.

"When is it ever?" I asked him.

Mycroft has started shuffling the papers before him, pretending to ignore my last comment. "There is an imminent threat towards London."

I rolled my eyes, "When isn't there, Mycroft?"

"This is serious," he informed me.

I sat up, closer. This had caught my attention. This must be serious or Mycroft would have just sent his brother on the case.

"How serious?" I asked, truly intrigued.

"You serious."


End file.
